


now and/or never

by saysoseijoh (texturexsurprised)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Jealous Kozume Kenma, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27769921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/texturexsurprised/pseuds/saysoseijoh
Summary: Kuroo wishes real life worked the same way Kenma’s games did, because then he’d probably have something to show for the years he spent as his best friend - all the games he’d gifted, the apple pies he baked, the nights he stayed up with him so he could fall asleep. If he was in one of those silly romance games, a no from Kenma would be out of the question.“-Kuro?”He blinks in confusion, Kenma’s voice pulling him out of his thoughts.“You were drifting off again,” Kenma says, a small pout on his face. “Pay attention so I can feel at least a little bit of satisfaction when I win.”
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 187





	now and/or never

**Author's Note:**

> Kenma and Kuroo visit a fair together near the end of Kuroo's third year. This is third person limited from Kuroo's POV.

Kuroo has never been particularly fond of spring.

He doesn’t hate it, either - doesn’t hate the way the cherry blossoms unfurl pink and tender, or the way the sun begins to creep in and color the edges of a grayscale world. But the clouded, blustery days, the insistent rain and the hesitance with which the green in the trees and grass awakens - it’s all painfully ambivalent and uncertain.

Kuroo looks at the boy beside him, stick-thin legs curled up as he picks at a piece of pie, and realizes that he’s never felt so unsure in his life. 

He averts his eyes from Kenma and directs his gaze down at the half-eaten apple in his hand. The silence that hangs between them is usually comfortable, because it’s a silence filled with mutual understanding and unspoken reassurance. But the silence today hangs thick and heavy with tension, and worse, Kuroo knows the discomfort is entirely on his end.

He decides that he can’t take it anymore, this strained emptiness that warps the time and space around them, and consequently takes the necessary steps to resolve the issue. It’s a procedure that he’s practiced and polished and perfected since middle school, a natural extension of the persona he’s grown into since then. Never mind that Kenma can probably see right through it; never mind that out of all people, Kenma always knows when he’s faking it.

First, he cracks a lazy grin, because smiling makes people feel at ease. Next, he reaches over and ruffles Kenma’s hair, because physical touch creates understanding and mutual trust. And finally, he opens his mouth and delivers what is probably the worst pun of his entire life, because he figures the ensuing deprecation at his own expense will be good for bonding.

“Next year,” he sighs dramatically. “I’m going to miss Nekoma so much. Especially chem class.”

Kenma acknowledges his heartfelt, emotional declaration with a noncommittal grunt.

“Because here, I always feel like I’m in my _element_.”

At that, Kenma finally looks up at him. He’s unimpressed. Of course he is. His dismissal of the joke stings just a little bit, but Kuroo expected that. He’s more focused on the undercurrent of worry in Kenma’s eyes, concealed in a way that Kuroo knows only he can detect. 

He can’t help but feel slightly proud of that fact.

Kenma stands up, brushing away the pastry crumbs on his lap, and begins to walk away. Irrational panic suddenly creeps in at the edges of Kuroo’s mind.

“Where are you going?”

Kenma turns around and tilts his head quizzically, confusion flashing across his features. “I thought you were the one that wanted us to go to the fair today?” 

“Ah,” he replies stupidly.

Kuroo is pretty sure his face is flushed scarlet, but he does everything in his power to ignore the embarrassment prickling at his neck. Maybe if he pretends like the red in his cheeks isn’t there, the rest of the world will too. He knows it’s preschooler logic, object-permanence-deficient logic, but he’s _embarrassed_ , goddammit. 

“Keep up, Kuro,” Kenma says, the amused quirk of his lips the only indicator of his teasing.

-

Kuroo tries to work up the courage to tell Kenma throughout the course of the day, but everytime he opens his mouth he feels like someone has snatched the air from his lungs, as if he’d been placed in a chokehold and slowly left to dry drown. Nothing feels right; his silver tongue, normally quick to twist and bend words into all the right places, rests numbly against his palate.

His first attempt is right after they arrive at the fairgrounds. They’re standing in line for tickets at the entrance, the morning sun bright and piercing. He’s standing close to Kenma, close enough to see each strand of golden hair framing his face, close enough to feel the warmth of his body even through his hoodie. _We could stay right here forever_ , Kuroo thinks. He wouldn’t mind.

Kuroo’s about to open his mouth and let loose the dreadful confession that’s been clawing its way out, but the crowd behind him begins to jostle impatiently and he realizes it’s their turn at the ticket booth. He swallows, throat dry and scratchy, and waves apologetically at the attendant. 

“Tickets for two, please.”

Another time, then. Today was far from over. 

-

At lunch, Kuroo buys Kenma chocolate vanilla swirl soft serve and tries very hard to avoid staring at the way he laps at the ice cream. It’s not an easy feat - Kenma eats slowly, and that means Kuroo has to sit through twenty minutes of pink lips and smooth tongue, prodding and licking and sucking and- _fuck_ , why does he have to be such a fucking pervert? He recoils internally, disgusted at the turn his thoughts have taken. Kenma would probably never talk to him again if he knew. 

He’s so caught up in ignoring his best friend that he almost misses the mint chocolate chip cone shoved in front of his own face. Almost. 

Kuroo manages to recover, but only just in time.

“All for me?” he asks, eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “I’m so flattered. To think that someday, I’d finally be repaid for all the kindness that I’ve showered you with-”

“Kuro.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop talking.”

Maybe he’d recovered a little too well. 

Kuroo lets out a defeated sigh, and turns around to look at Kenma - properly this time, his stupidly pretty face be damned - and the smile that spreads across his face is real and raw, his lips stretching so wide it hurts in the best way possible. 

“But seriously, Kenma. Thanks.”

Maybe it’s just his imagination or maybe Kenma really does know him too well, because he returns the smile. It’s the first blatantly positive acknowledgement he’s gotten from him all day, and maybe not so coincidentally, it’s the one time that day Kuroo’s felt his pretenses slipping away. _Now’s the time_ , he thinks. _Do it while you’re vulnerable enough, do it while you still can. Do it now._

He doesn’t, of course, and the moment slips through his grasp silently - just like this morning, just like every single waking moment he’s spent with Kenma for the past twelve years.

-

“You didn’t bring your game today.”

Kenma shrugs nonchalantly. “I wanted to do something else. Besides, aren’t you always the one nagging me to put my games away?”

“I don’t _nag_ , Kenma. I remind. Nudge. Prompt. In a helpful way.”

“In a bothersome way.”

“You wound me.”

“And I feel _so_ much remorse for it.”

Despite the dry tone of Kenma’s voice, Kuroo knows there’s no real bite behind those words, no genuine complaint. This is just more back-and-forth banter, as steady and reliable and rhythmic as the crashing of the ocean waves against the shore.

“We’ll finish this _discussion_ later,” Kuroo says, wagging his finger threateningly. “But first, darts.”

Kenma perks up. His excitement is subtle, something anyone else would easily miss or misinterpret, but Kuroo hasn’t spent his entire adolescence pining for nothing - he catches the way the liquid gold of his eyes shines a little brighter, he notices how the hair framing his face falls and parts to the sides, and Kuroo feels a burst of warm anticipation bubble up in his chest.

He leads Kenma to the rows of balloons and dartboards, tugging on his wrist as they weave through the crowd( _No,_ he reminds himself firmly, _this definitely does not constitute holding hands_ ).

Kenma spends all day with his eyes glued to the screen, mind wrapped up in fantastical worlds full of dragons and witches and magic. But it’s not the brightly colored pixels or the flashy sound effects; no, it’s the euphoric rush in leveling up, in the logical and reliable progression of improvement. In video games, Kenma can take every single variable into account and figure out the best way to win.

He always wins.

Kuroo wishes real life worked the same way Kenma’s games did, because then he’d probably have something to show for the years he spent as his best friend - all the games he’d gifted, the apple pies he baked, the nights he stayed up with him so he could fall asleep. If he was in one of those silly romance games, a _no_ from Kenma would be out of the question.

“-Kuro?”

He blinks in confusion, Kenma’s voice pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“You were drifting off again,” Kenma says, a small pout on his face. “Pay attention so I can feel at least a little bit of satisfaction when I win.”

Kuroo’s mouth curves into a sharp grin. “I think you’re getting a bit too confident. This is, unfortunately for you, a _physical_ dart board.”

Of course, he ends up losing.

-

It’s already seven - thirty minutes until the fair closes - and Kuroo still hasn’t confessed. 

He’d tell himself to put it off until another day, but he doesn’t know if there’s going to be one like this anytime soon. Kuroo shoves his hands in his pockets and looks up at the setting sun, watches the golden light make giants out of the fairgoers’ silhouettes. This kind of lighting makes Kenma look like something out of a storybook, he thinks, all soft and airy. 

He inhales slowly and blinks a few times to reorient himself. “It’s getting a bit late. Should we head back?”

Kenma quirks his mouth to one side, as if considering Kuroo’s suggestion, and shakes his head slightly. He reaches into his pocket and holds up two tickets for the ferris wheel. “Let’s get rid of these first.”

Kuroo finds himself more relieved than surprised. “Yes,” he replies. “Let’s.”

They walk towards the ride, close enough for their arms to brush as they swing. The crowds of people from earlier in the day seem to have mostly dissipated, and the emptiness is almost unsettling - there are trampled soda cans and candy wrappers littering the ground, and the few people that do remain seem lost in their own world.

“Have you thought about next year yet?” Kuroo asks quietly.

Kenma makes a face. “Please, don’t remind me. Shibayama is the only one that even approaches tolerable,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “Although Inuoka usually knows when to take a hint and quiet down.”

“You have a setter to train too, don’t you?”

“I’m aware.”

“Hmm,” Kuroo hums, smiling. It’s a smile that looks like he knows something no one else does, and he knows it gets on Kenma’s nerves - not enough to actually piss him off, but enough to make him grumpy. 

Kuroo may or may not find it cute, and he may or may not be doing it on purpose.

They arrive at the bottom of the amusement ride, and Kenma holds out the tickets. “For two, please.”

“Count yourselves lucky. We’re almost about to close up,” the attendant says, nodding. He looks to be in his late teens, with sunken eyes and golden curls that fall messily into a side part. Kuroo finds himself absentmindedly wondering about him, wondering about the school he goes to, the classes he takes, the people he makes friends with and falls in love with, the job he’ll move on to after he grows up - all the little bits and pieces that make up someone’s life, the parts that differentiate them from others.

They climb into the passenger car of the ferris wheel, and Kuroo winces slightly when he sits down on the too-cold metal. The two of them sit in silence as the compartment sways gently back and forth, lifting them higher and higher until the park fades into a birds-eye view.

“You were thinking about him, weren’t you?” Kenma looks up at him, his gaze piercing and inescapable.

“Who?”

“The attendant.”

Kuroo sighs in resignation; he’s been caught. “Are you jealous?” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

“You wonder about everyone,” Kenma mutters.

He shrugs. “That didn’t answer my question. Besides, everyone’s interesting.” 

It’s true, Kuroo thinks. He likes most people. Likes getting to know them, getting to figure them out. He especially loves doing it with strangers, people who he’ll never see again, just to see if he can.

Beside him, Kenma goes silent for a moment, but the clarity on his face makes it obvious that he’s thinking.

“I like you, Kuro.” 

He swallows nervously and flashes a weak grin. “Like, as friends? Or as - as-”

Kuroo’s mind blanks out as soon as he registers the soft brush of lips against his own, warm and slightly damp and _absolutely perfect_. He leans forward, slightly intoxicated from the rush, eager to reciprocate, but Kenma pulls away with the barest hint of a smile.

“That should make it slightly harder for you to misinterpret,” Kenma says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I see,” he replies.

Kuroo leans back in his seat, unable to control the the wild pace of the pounding in his chest or the big, stupid grin spreading across his face. He looks up at the sky, where the white-hot glint of each star nestles itself in the purple haze of dusk. Then he looks down at the boy beside him. It’s easy, really, to decide which view he prefers.

“I will never, _ever_ , think about anyone as much as you.” 

“Good,” Kenma whispers.


End file.
